


Infinite Constellations

by LadleWrites



Series: Late Night Conversations [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Late Night Conversations, Let Simon eat pie, Let these two boys be happy, M/M, Mild Language, Penelope Bunce is a Good Friend, Punk Rock, References to David Bowie, References to Talking Heads, Snow is made of stars, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Has Feelings, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Watford (Simon Snow), stars and big revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadleWrites/pseuds/LadleWrites
Summary: BAZThere comes a time in every young person’s life where you sit down and just think, “What the fuck.” This is one of those moments.----------Or:Simon Snow has a realization and Baz Pitch panics. Conversations and emotional growth ensue.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Late Night Conversations [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811959
Comments: 9
Kudos: 104





	Infinite Constellations

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, this is the first fanfic that I've ever written, I have no idea what I'm doing but I hope you enjoy this little blurb. Also, I'm going ahead and making this work a part of a series just in case if I ever want to come back to it, but at the moment I do not have any other works planed.  
> \- Ladle

BAZ 

There comes a time in every young person’s life where you sit down and just think, “What the fuck.” This is one of those moments. 

Unsurprisingly Snow and the rest of the Scooby gang have gotten up to another of their shenanigans, something involving a gnome and some mystical amulet I believe, though unlike most his attempts at whacking and hacking with his sword, this one did not quite work out, much to Snow’s surprise and my eternal disappointment. 

Honestly, if I wasn’t so maddeningly in love with the blustering idiot, my very shallow well of caring and sympathy would’ve long since run dry, but like everything relating to and pertaining to the Golden Boy, he pushes the boundary of what is known, my level of patience included. 

The black tar seemingly dripping from his every pore is proving to test my short, decrepit well of patience. At this point, I think my right eyebrow might be permanently stuck to my hairline. 

Bunce and Wellbelove seem to have made it through this ghastly ordeal relatively unscathed, suspicious black substances aside, though honestly with how many daring hijinks Bunce gets up to, her state of dress is hardly surprising. 

“I told you we should’ve gotten somebody, I can’t believe you and Simon went after that-that thing, by yourselves.” Wellbelove’s reluctance to join the fray notwithstanding, it does seem surprising that Penelope, possibly the greatest witch of our time and a perpetual thorn in my side, would do anything to risk the life of The Chosen One. 

“And-,” Bunce glares at Wellbelove over her cat’s eyeglasses, honestly, it’s a wonder Wellbelove has stayed on for as long as she has, I commend her for her effort if anything. 

“I told you that by the time one of us left Simon on his own to go and get someone else it would be too late.” Bunce finishes, ignoring Agatha’s huff of annoyance. 

Part of me sympathizes with her, Bunce truly is a menace and a test for anyone’s patience. 

“Ugh, a little help? Please?” Simon moans from betwixt the two. How Wellbelove and Bunce managed to drag Simon’s listless body all the way up the tower is a wonder, and at this point, I’ve given up trying to figure out how Bunce even gets in here in the first place. All of the literature in the world could never divine or reason out how Penelope Bunce does what she does. 

“Oh, sorry,” Agatha murmurs before throwing a glance toward me, as if just now realizing that, yes, even the Chosen One has a roommate, as unfortunate as it is for all involved. 

With Simon’s feet dragging the ground, the two witches hobble toward the opposite side of the room, toward Simon’s bed. 

As they pass by me, where I was perched on my bed attempting to study for our magic words' exam, I meet Simon’s eyes. 

My tiny, decrepit, undead heart, curse it, cannot keep the concern from leeching onto my face and I’m afraid that all of the Scooby gang will bear witness to it, will see that I’m actually worried out of my mind. 

It takes every bone and limited ounce of blood in my body to tear my eyes from his once he passes by me. And every remaining rational brain cell not to run to him and search him for injuries and feel him and make sure that he’s actually here, alive. It takes everything in me not to try and spirit Simon away to somewhere the Mage and his ridiculous, awful orders cannot reach, to take both of us somewhere where Families and the World of Mages don’t matter. 

Because all that matters to me now is this Golden, reckless, idiotic, beautiful man, and the fact that he is safe and here. 

I’ve seen Simon in just about all the ways you can see a person. 

I've seen him smiling, this usually and exclusively happens when there is food or one of the goatherd’s goats involved. 

I’ve seen him covered in blood, his own and that of someone-something-else’s blood. 

I’ve seen him with a little simile whenever I play a Simon and Garfunkle record, I still cannot understand Simon’s music taste, and the cosmic irony of it all is laughable. 

I’ve seen him beaten down, but I’ve never seen him broken. 

Because that’s just it, no matter what the world throws at Simon, he is always capable of weathering it. He always pulls through it. 

He has to, he’s the savior to the world of Mages, he’s prophesized, he has no choice but to pull himself together, no matter how monumental-how detrimental- the task. 

Because without that conviction, without that massive, supernova force of Simon just blindly, bravely, fighting till the bitter end and further yet, what does that mean for me? 

What does that mean when it is he and I on the battlefield, his hacking, whacking sword of Justice, and his unwavering moral compass between us, will he fight to the bitter end then? 

Will he vanquish the threat, the enemy? Or will his well of sympathy, of patience, be larger, deeper than mine, will he see some good in me and fight to make me better? 

Am I even capable of something better than what I am? Is there even good in me? When stood against Simon's pure light of goodness and his rigid moral compass, is there any way to see me as possessing any ounce of that same inherent goodness? 

I am a dark creature, and while I like to think that I pass as human much better than most, is my humanity just a disguise, a charade? If so, who am I really fooling, it makes it kind of difficult to believe that you are capable of good deeds when the savior of the world believes you to be a monster. 

I think constantly of how that day will go, because, just like Simon himself, it is inevitable. We are too different to expect any less. I am too different to hope for any more. 

I try not to, to let myself hope, because that is a deep dark corner of myself that should never be allowed to see the light of day, it should never be allowed in Simon’s light. 

I’m startled out my reverie when Simon gracelessly (honestly, is he ever really graceful?) and unceremoniously flops onto his bed, a quiet groan huffing from his lips. 

To distract myself from the burning need to go him, I pull myself up and stride over to where my record player (a gift from Fiona when I first came to Watford all those years ago) is sat innocuously on our small bookshelf, and switch the record (Starman, Bowie truly was a gift to mankind) and randomly select a record that I know Simon likes. 

It shouldn’t be as endearing as it is that Simon feels music just about as deeply as I do, his horrid taste in it notwithstanding. I still can’t understand his odd fixation with singers from the ’70s who look like homeless ranch hands. Really, is there such a need for that much distressed leather, or that many bolo ties? 

It shouldn’t make my heart as warm as it does that I know what music helps Simon relax, helps him come down from that teetering edge. 

I know that Snow hates Bowie (like the uncultured heathen that he is) so I originally had the record playing because David Bowie is God’s gift to mankind and because Snow had woken me up this morning with all his blustering and huffing and stomping so I thought that I deserved this tiny piece of retribution. 

Also, because I am a constant disappointment to myself and I wanted to see Snow get all huffy and annoyed. He gets this little crinkle between his eyebrows that makes my heart do indecent things. 

As I’m turning back toward my bed the first few notes of Homeward Bound begin to play and since I am fully facing Snow, I get to see how the music works the knots out of his body and he begins to fully settle on the bed. 

He manages to turn his head and give me a small, weak smile before his eyes scrunch up in pain again. 

Bunce turns to me from her perch by Simon’s shoulder to give me a questioning, and dare I say appreciating, once over. 

Wellbelove has begun to pace at the foot of Simon’s bed. 

“I think we should get the Mage,” Wellbelove states to the room, her eyes roaming from Bunce’s to mine. 

“I was never a part of this idiocy so best leave me out of these deliberations,” I huff before settling back onto my bed, opening my textbook, not reading so much as I am snooping to see how all of this will play out, sneaking the occasional glance at Simon where he has curled up on his side, his back to me. 

Bunce rolls her eyes before fixing her stare on Wellbelove as if she cannot believe the sheer idiocy of some people. 

“Agatha, that’s your answer to everything and while I appreciate your wanting to help, we don’t need the Mage and if you can’t agree to that, then, frankly, we don’t need you either.” Bunce huffs from her place beside Simon, where she seems to be attempting to spell away the black tar substance, though if her irritation and huffy attitude are anything to go by, her efforts are in vain. 

I try to hide my surprise, I've never seen Bunce snap at Wellbelove like this, sure she has probably as much or as little patience as I do, but Bunce is also annoyingly rational and logical, she doesn’t just snap at people. 

Bunce’s avid aversion to involving the Mage though, is frankly, unexpected. I always knew that Bunce was not particularly fond of the Mage, I think that Simon is really the only person who is, but she always acknowledged the green-legging-clad idiot’s power and influence. 

Personally, I would rather see the Mage dead and rotting in the catacombs or left to swim with the Merwolves than let him anywhere near Simon. Especially with him constantly sending Snow on these reckless quests where the poor buffoon ends up beaten and covered in blood with nothing to show for his efforts aside from nearly a decade’s worth of emotional trauma. 

“You know that this is so much bigger than ourselves now, we need to get someone involved, we can’t handle this, Simon nearly died and we’re just students.” Agatha grinds out, tossing her hand out, gesturing to where Simon lies in a heap on the bed. I think he’s passed out since at this point he would’ve said something to reign in Bunce’s passionate concern for his well-being and Wellbelove’s frightening need to be a tattletale. 

My hands unintentionally clench tighter around my textbook, something else must have happened on their little adventure because Gnomes are hardly a threat, even in a colony the most they might be able to do is throw sticks and dirt at you, more of a pest than an actual enemy, definitely not capable of bringing Snow to his knees like this, I can’t think of what might be able to cripple The Chosen One. 

Aside from the Humdrum. (I still have nightmares about the most the recent encounter, it was the first time I had ever seen it-him- and I certainly didn’t expect it to look like an eleven-year-old Snow.) 

I repress the violent shudder that had tried to work its way up my spine at the memory, some things are better left untouched, in the dark. That was one of those moments that I wish I could forget, but I do the next best thing, take a page out of Snow’s book and just don’t think about it. 

(If only it were as easy for me as it seems to be for him.) 

For all of Snow’s many shortcomings with magic and spellcasting, he is effective and powerful, Crowley he’s the most powerful mage of our age, and he’s beaten and bested just about everything out there. He vaporized a dragon for Merlin’s sake. 

He may not be best at problem-solving but he gets things done, just through blustering and willing it to be so. 

Bunce sighs, the sound bone-deep and weary, and drags her hands up her face, rubbing violently at her eyes, upsetting her massive glasses in the process, and all at once I am reminded by how young we all are, and I start to see a little of what Agatha is going on about. 

We are too young, too unprepared, too ill-equipped to deal with everything that we are being tasked to manage. 

Penelope Bunce, while brave and cunning and noble in her own right, is still a child, and is tasked with protecting The Chosen One, a job that she seems to be failing at lately, given his current state. 

Agatha Wellbelove, while a semi-competent witch and much more competent socialite, is still a child and is tasked with carrying The Chosen One to happiness, a job that she seems to be failing at lately given that Simon is really only happy lately when food or the goatherd’s goats are involved. 

And The Chosen One himself, while courageous and so, so blindingly good, is still a child and is tasked with carrying the entire World of Mages to safety, something that should never have been his job in the first place. 

And me, heir to the Pitch empire, while a decent violinist and a mostly-dead creature of the night, am tasked with ridding the world of Simon Snow, a job that I am failing at. A job that never should have been mine in the first place. A job that I never, ever, wanted. 

“Why don’t we just try and help Simon, alright?” Bunce responds in a quiet, defeated voice. 

I don’t find out what actually happened to Snow until much later. The sun has already set and Bunce and Wellbelove have long since cleared out of the room. 

SIMON 

I don’t really know what’s happening, time has become all wonky and I know that it’s because I keep passing out. 

It feels kind of like an episode of Doctor Who when the TARDIS slips through space and everything is kind of blurry and all wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey. 

I know that after the woods Agatha must’ve found Penny and I and somehow both of them were able to drag me up the tower since I’m lying in my bed now. I remember watching Agatha’s golden-white hair flowing in the breeze and thinking that it looked like the tall wheat-grass that only grows around coastlines, near beaches and shores. I can’t remember the last time I ever saw a coastline or went to the beach. (They don’t do too many field trips in the care homes). 

I remember thinking that I really, really wanted a shower because I felt sticky and dirty and my soul felt empty, like it had been ripped from my body and jammed back in at the wrong angle. Everything felt wrong. 

I remember seeing Baz and thinking that he looked worried which is wrong because Baz doesn’t have anything to worry about, he’s one of the best mages that I know and as awful as he can be, he’s also so, so strong. Nothing should ever make Baz worry, it’s like the two words just don’t fit together in my brain. 

I remember hearing a few words from one of my favorite songs from Baz’s record player. I’m dead jealous that he has one, a record player that is. I wish that I had one, they don’t have any good music at the care homes. All they have is whatever overplayed pop song is on the radio. They probably wouldn’t let me keep it if I did have one though. 

One-time Penny lent me a phone to use over the summer, that was the summer after the Humdrum yanked Penny and me up to Lancashire, guess she wanted to make sure that if the Humdrum decided to steal me from my own life again that at least I’d have some way to let someone know it had happened. 

I tried to keep the phone hidden, tried to make sure no one knew about it, but when one of the other kids shoved me up against a wall, guess he thought he was big and bad enough to rough me up a little, anyway when he shoved me up against the brick wall the phone fell out of my pocket and all of the other kids’ eyes went to it like it was gold. Which I guess to them it is, to me it is, what with how little we’re actually allowed to have. 

When you live in such a small space with so many people, so many children, it’s unfair for one person to have something that the other doesn’t, and kids will fight tooth and nail to have something as precious as a phone. 

What was just a scuffle between me and this bloke then turned into an all-out brawl where all the other kids were fighting to get the phone and anyway, I’m not allowed to have phones anymore. And if I had something as nice as Baz’s vintage record player, well I would hate to see what would happen to it. 

Something like that should be protected, cherished. I wouldn’t be able to do that. I can barely protect myself, Merlin, I could barely protect Penny this afternoon in the woods. 

I remember Penny and Agatha got into a bit of a domestic over whether or not to involve The Mage, and I remember wanting to say something to get them both to calm down, I had never heard Penny snap at Agatha like that before, but they could both be pretty stubborn at times so I suppose it’s not all that surprising, especially considering what we had just been through. 

I remember Baz leaving after a while, and Penny and Agatha leaving after they were finally able to get all the sticky stuff off of me. 

I remember Penny coming back with a plate full of food, I guess it was dinner time already. There were three buttered sour-cherry scones, some Shepherd’s pie, two pork chops, and some glazed carrots. Penny must’ve fought tooth and nail to get me this much food, Sheperd’s pie never lasts very long in the dining hall, it makes my heart lift a little at the gesture. 

I only wish the mere thought of eating didn't make me feel like being sick everywhere. 

Feeling a little more aware than I have the past few hours, I try and take stock of my injuries and ailments. 

My head is pounding like a few of Ebb’s baby goats have taken up residence there and are testing out their new horns on my skull. 

My throat feels like I swallowed a kilo of sand and a few of my ribs feel bruised but aside from that, I have recovered from much worse. 

I guess constantly facing death desensitizes you to the pain and injury of it. 

I do manage a few sips of the tea that had been sitting on my bedside table along with the scones and pie and pork chops and carrots. 

I’ve just settled back down in my bed, content to worry about everything else after a good night’s sleep when I hear Baz open the door to our room, the light from hallway doing little to help with the family of goats in my head. 

BAZ 

I only left for a few precious minutes to find a rat in the catacombs to suck dry, with all of the worrying and internal panicking that I’ve been doing today I didn’t realize that I was starving. 

Bunce and Wellbelove were gone by the time I get back to our room, though judging by the platter of food steaming on Snow’s bedside table one of them must have just left. 

I stand in the doorway for a moment and give in to some of my worries. I let myself focus on his heartbeat, steady, albeit slightly slow. I let myself focus on his face and his freckles, Wellbelove was the one to wipe away the worst of the black substance, when it seemed that no magic could touch it. I let my eyes find the constellations painted across his skin. 

After seven years of orbiting around Simon Snow, I’ve memorized the exact placement of each mole and freckle. Simon is made of entire galaxies, too many to count and burning far too brightly for me to ever be able to look too long. And yet I’m always pulled toward him, my existence, as meager as it is, will always revolve around him, until the time comes when his gravity is too much and I’ll crash into him. Burned to nothing by his heat, by his light. 

We are destined to end in fire, fitting that, with the Pitches basically being dragons and my body being made to burn. 

My life truly is the world’s greatest cosmic joke. 

I must have been staring too hard, my concern too tangible because Simon shifts and it is only because of my enhanced hearing that I am able to make out the tiny, muffled, “Baz,” that Simon murmurs, his eyes scrunching up against the light pouring out behind me in the hallway. 

I stop myself from running to him, from placing my hands in his hair and whispering that everything will be alright because I know, that for both of us, things were never and are never going to be alright. 

Snow might get his happily ever after with Wellbelove and they will likely have an entire gaggle of beautiful Chosen One babies and a small cottage with a white picket fence and my grave will be only a few blocks away, but I know that even with that, Snow will never be happy. 

How can he be happy with that when he is so miserable with what he has now? 

He and Agatha broke up a few weeks ago but everyone knows that they’ll get back together, and yet I’ve never really seen Snow truly happy, not for any length of time at least. 

Other people may not be able to see it, but after spending seven years orbiting around Simon Snow, I have become something of an expert in being able to read his behaviors and expressions and everything else about him. 

I could write an entire novel about Simon Snow, I’m probably the world’s leading expert, though not for any of the reasons that my family would want me to be. 

While the opportunities are heart-breakingly few and far between, I have seen Snow when he is truly happy and at peace, and Agatha Wellbelove was not involved in any of those moments. 

While I do manage to stop myself from practically throwing myself on him, I don’t stop myself from quietly shutting the door, striding over to my bed and sitting down on the side closest to Snow. 

“Care to explain why Bunce and Wellbelove had to drag your dripping, lifeless body up the whole tower today?” I snap at him, all of the anxiety and worry of today must have sapped more of my energy than I thought. I didn’t mean to be so cruel with him, but today has tried my every last nerve and I have been restraining myself from going to Snow all day, and while I have had years to practice that, I’ve found that it never gets easier. 

I don’t really know why I asked anyway, it’s not like Snow and I talk about these kinds of things. I’m his enemy, but lately, we’ve been something else, so I think part of me hoped that whatever was growing between us, would hold, would allow me to ask about things that I wouldn’t normally ask about. Would allow me to care. 

Snow sighs, his broad shoulders rising and falling with the effort before he turns on his back, hands fisting the sheets against his chest, eyes staring up at the ceiling. 

“The Humdrum sent a Wraith after me.” I can’t keep my eyes from bugging out a little at that, once again I’m thankful for the dark and Snow’s horrid eyesight because I’m sure I must look a loon. 

I keep myself quiet though, bite my tongue against the million and one questions burning the back of my throat, too scared to break the moment, too scared that by speaking I’ll startle Snow back into the reality where we are enemies and he is destined to end me. 

I merely hum before standing back up and settling a different record on my record player. The soft notes of Talking Heads’ Road to Nowhere fills the room, once I’m settled back on my bed facing Snow, he continues to explain. 

“Penny and I were out in the Wavering Wood, The Mage told us to go and find this stone that the Gnomes had been protecting and to bring it back to him,” I knew it was something involving Gnomes, with all of the quests and adventures the Mage sends Simon on you can hardly fault me for not being able to keep up with them all. 

“We had just gotten the stone and were heading out of the woods when there was this dry sucking feeling,” Simon continues, his fists clenching his bedsheets and my heart breaks for him. 

While many students at Watford have been victims of many-a-Humdrum attack, it never gets any easier to experience, and Simon has to stay conscious and rational enough to protect whichever poor fool the creature is attacking. Most students just run, a few have even just passed out. It’s terrifying and we’re all too young to know how to cope with that kind of raw fear. They don’t even begin to teach us any defensive spells until our fifth year. One of the many changes The Mage made to the curriculum when he took over as headmaster after my mother. If she were still here, she would have never let her students go so unprotected. 

“I yelled at Penny to leave, but she yelled that she was gonna stay and that whatever it is was that the Humdrum sent we would face it together, and I was still trying to get her to go and she was still yelling at me and then a Wraith just burst through the trees, and I just knew that something was wrong.” Simon lets out in a rush, the words tumbling and colliding with each other, his eyes screwed tight at the memory. 

I can’t stop myself from saying, “It’s a Wraith, Snow, I hardly think they’re a sign of something good.” 

Snow just huffs out what sounds reminiscent of a laugh, though I can tell that some of the tension has left his shoulders. 

“Fuck you, mate,” he sighs, though there isn’t any real heat or threat behind his words and with how his hands have loosened their death grip on his poor sheets, he doesn’t really mean it cruelly. 

“Anway, I’m trying to get at it with my sword but after a few minutes Penny yells at me that it won’t work because it isn’t corporeal and then she starts slinging spells at it but none of them are sinking in, they kind of bounce off it.” 

Wraiths are nasty creatures and near impossible to defeat, they prey on one’s weaknesses and greatest fears, gradually sapping the life from them until there’s nothing left to take. As far as I know, there are no spells that can bring down a Wraith, it’s why they’re one of the most powerful of all the dark creatures. The only way to defeat a Wraith is to be fearless, for the Wraith to have nothing to feed off of. This is also why Wraiths are one of the most elusive creates because they feed exclusively on humans. I don’t suppose other animals have much to fear. I’m starting to wonder how Snow and company made it out of this at all. Knowing what they were up against does little to settle my feeble heart. 

“Then the Wraith goes on and says all of this awful stuff to Penny and I’m yelling at her, trying to get her to see the truth, that nothing that cursed creature was saying was true but she’s starting to break down and then it turns to me and starts to say all of this awful stuff, it says you-,” Simon cuts off, the corners of his eyes shining with unshed tears and I’m unable to hold myself back at the raw crack of his voice, at the pain there. 

I reach my hand out, closing the meager distance between our two beds and settle my hand over his sheets, near his shoulder, letting him know that I’m here, that I see how stressful and terrifying and awful that whole situation must’ve been and letting him know that he isn’t alone. 

While my entire being is desperate for him to finish that thought, to know how, why I was involved in one of his deepest fears, I know that right now Snow doesn’t need my questions, doesn’t need an interrogation, he needs a friend. 

And while I would only ever dream of us being so close, I know that the reality is much different but I am the only one here and Simon can have my support, whatever that means from someone who’s dead, from someone who is his enemy. 

He can have everything I am if only it takes some of the weight off of his heart. I would cross every line for him, I would give what small, tiny amount of life I have left in me if only he didn’t have to keep fighting. 

Simon shifts imperceptibly closer to my hand before he continues on. 

“Anyway, it was saying all of these awful, terrible things and the dry sucking feeling was still there and Penny was still screaming and I couldn’t hold my magic in anymore, I just-I went off, I guess I must’ve exploded it or something,” Simon sighs a little at that, his eyes slowly blinking back open, though his gaze remains on the ceiling. 

“I guess I must’ve blacked out because the next thing I know, I’m up with here with your smarmy ass.” He turns to me, and it’s only thanks to my Edward Cullen problem (as Fiona likes to call it-she knows that I hate it and she does it simply to spite me) that I’m able to see how puffy Snow’s eyes are, how prominent the bruising under them is, how he has a small smile just for me. In spite of everything, he still manages to find a reason to smile. 

My heart clenches at this beautiful, brave man and his golden curls and all of his stars and infinite constellations 

I shift my hand closer to the edge of the bed, away from Snow and his dangerous smiles. 

“Well, I suppose this means that the Chosen One lives to fight another day.” I huff, though my voice comes out traitorously soft. 

Snow turns on his side, fully facing me and it is at this moment that I understand what deer feel when they are met with the lights from an approaching vehicle. The weight of Snow’s full attention is a powerful, massive thing, and I feel woefully unprepared to deal with it. 

“Guess so.” He murmurs to me, his smile all in his eyes now, his perfectly unremarkable eyes. 

The scratch of the record disrupts our quiet moment, and I can’t decide whether I’m thankful for it or resentful of it. I’m not too sure what I would've done if Snow had continued to look at me like that. 

I stand up, and to hide the slight shaking in my hands I dust them down my trousers under the guise of straightening the creases before heading over to the record player. 

I’ve just finished setting the record back in its sleeve when I hear Simon whisper, “It told me I would kill you.” 

I’m not able to hide how my fingers clench around the record, or how my shoulders move a little higher. This isn’t something that Snow and I have ever talked about before, we both know that we are enemies, destined to end each other, but leave it to Snow to blindly venture where no man has ever gone before. Curse the brave idiot and his need to talk about feelings like an actual human being. 

I don’t know what to do with this information, what part of ending me terrifies Snow? Is it the battle preceding it, surely with all of the fights and near-death-encounters he isn’t afraid of the pain associated with death or fighting for your life. 

A small, weak part of me whispers that he is afraid of killing me because, at his core, he doesn’t want to kill me. Maybe he actually cares about me, maybe not to the debilitating level that I care for him, but maybe, at the least, he doesn’t want to be the cause of my death. 

I can’t stop myself from whispering, “Why?” I’m not entirely sure which part I’m asking about, perhaps the entirety of it. 

“Because I don’t have too much left to lose, and I know I can’t lose you.” My head turns so quickly that I’m not entirely sure I didn’t use some of my Edward Cullen speed. My mouth must be gaping like a carp, I feel like the roles have been reversed, and not in my favor. Snow is the mouth-breather between the two of us and yet, despite the magnitude of his statement, the sheer power of what he just said, he’s still laying on his side, his eyes fixed on me, a small smile playing at his lips and he looks so carefree, he looks freer than I’ve ever seen. 

How dare he look at me like that, as if he didn’t just completely turn my whole world on its head, as if he didn’t just set off an earthquake inside my poor dead heart. As if he didn’t just say the very words I’ve been dreaming of hearing since I discovered my Earth-shattering feelings for him. 

Internally, the only thought I’m able to piece together inside my chicken-brain is What the Fuck. 

Snow must find some part of my expression or lack of any kind of a response amusing because his smile grows a little, his beautiful lips pulling at the corners and I’m just trying to remember how breathing works and what the alphabet is and how to do words. 

(Crowley, is this what Snow feels like every day?) 

“I didn’t really realize it till the Wraith spelled it out for me like that, I mean I’ve always been obsessed with you, but I never knew.” I somehow manage to remember how to move my limbs and I settle back on my bed, close my mouth and try to gather my thoughts. 

“You what?” Is all I manage to gape out, my brain still playing catch-up and my eyes have fixated on Snow’s lips where they begin to downturn a little. At the motion, I throw my eyes up to his and I see as he starts to fold back into himself, that crease appearing between his eyebrows. He shuffles a little before he settles back on his back, gaze moving to the ceiling. 

All at once, I feel as though I have done something horrendously wrong, but truthfully, I don’t know what he expected with a statement like that. 

Neither of us has ever discussed how we feel for each other, or anything else for that matter, like this, so plainly, so honestly. So earnestly. Sure we’ve been something like friends in the last few months, I’ve played more of the songs I know Simon likes whenever he’s in the room and I refrain from using most of my snarky comments, and Snow has been blissfully quiet in the mornings and takes quick showers in the evenings and I’ve even helped him study for practical's a few times. But this is a major jump from anything that I’ve been familiar with, I’ve never navigated a conversation like this with Snow and I have no idea what to say but I know me staring at him like a gaping carp isn’t it. 

So, I take a deep breath and try to quiet my thoughts as much as I can and focus on the two moles on Simon's neck, my hands clenching and unclenching where they rest over my knees. 

I wish I had some music playing, Talking Heads, The Beatles, anything, I’d even settle for one of Snow’s ranch-hand bands, anything to fill the gaping, yawning chasm of silence that stretches the meager length between our two beds. 

“You-you, care for me?” I stutter out, my cheeks heated and I’m embarrassed at this entire situation but even more so at the weak crack in my voice, I am pathetic and a constant disappointment to myself, but I don’t want this moment to end, for however embarrassing and mortifying it is. 

I don’t want to wake up and learn that this was all some elaborately creative dream or some hallucination. (It wouldn’t be the first time I let myself imagine Snow professing his undying love for me, though I must say in all the iterations of this dream I could actually remember how to speak). 

“Yeah, I think I have for a long time, honestly,” Simon whispers, his head turning, his eyes searching for mine in the dark. Simply because the universe hates me, the moon chooses this particular moment to peek out from behind the clouds, and because Snow had left the curtains pulled open this morning, the light shines into our room unobstructed, backlighting Snow until all I can see are his eyes, and I imagine Snow can see me as easily as if the Sun itself were high in the sky. 

I can only imagine what I look like, I know I feel emotionally strung-out, this day has drained me of all of my energy and I don’t know how many more earth-shattering confessions I can handle today. My cheeks still feel warm though so I must be blushing like the weak, love-struck idiot I am. 

Simon turns fully on his side and flops one of his hands out toward me and I can’t keep myself from grabbing it tightly, my throat constricting, my eyes held fast to his. The moon is shining on both of us and all I can think of is how Bowie once said, “I’m an instant star. Just add water and stir.” I feel a little like that like Simon just doused me in water and gave me a good shake, an entire cosmos of stars and galaxies and constellations erupting in my chest. 

I lean down toward him, my forehead knocking gently against his, my eyes closing softly and when I whisper to him, my lips are moving against his. 

“I can’t lose you either, Simon.” The words are whispered against his lips, my hands holding fast to his and I feel like I just made a promise to the universe, like something powerful just happened, like I’m stuck in the eye of a hurricane and the world around us is eerily still, suspiciously at peace. 

“I like this better.” Simon murmurs to me, the hand not currently clenched between my own moves to gently cup my cheek and it takes everything in me not to whimper at the feeling, I’m practically swooning from where I’m precariously perched on the edge of my bed and even though my back is stretched at an uncomfortable angle and my neck is beginning to cramp, I don’t care. 

I would fight the Humdrum itself just to have this moment with Snow. Just to have this moment where nothing else matters except for Snow and his constellation of moles and freckles and how his breath is huffing warm and soft against my lips and how he is here, in my arms, and safe and whole and all at once, everything feels right with the world. 

Damn the Families and the Mage and The Humdrum, nothing else matters except for this beautiful, brave, honest, broken boy. 

Yet again it is Simon who takes the courageous plunge into the unknown, his head tilting up slightly, his lips closing the meager gap between us until they settle against mine and all the sonnets and poems and songs and novels in the world would never be enough to capture this feeling, this moment. 

The hand that was cupping my cheek moves to cradle the back my neck, fingers playing with the hair at the base of my neck and this time I cannot hold back the embarrassing sigh that escapes my lips. 

Snow takes this as his opportunity to part my lips with his expert tongue and I feel like a livewire, like a star gone supernova, I feel like a fire has erupted in my chest and is spreading out through my entire body. 

After a few moments, my back begins to twinge uncomfortably and my neck really has begun to cramp, I let a little humph escape my lips and Simon draws back, his cheeks red and ruddy, his hair an impossible mess. 

My heart soars at the sight of it, knowing that I did this, that this is real and happening. 

“I’ll be right back,” I whisper against his lips before I pull myself up and gather my nightclothes and see to getting ready for bed. 

When I step out of the toilet Snow is sound asleep, his soft snores filling the room, the moon painting him in light, and for once I don’t have to hold back. 

I allow myself to drink in my fill of him before I head over to my own bed. I murmur a soft “goodnight” to Snow, my heart lighter than it’s ever been. 

I go to sleep with the powerful thought that the Chosen One, savior to the world of Mages, the Mage’s Heir, Simon Snow, loves me. 

While all of our problems and difficulties still exist, it feels easier now, knowing that I have Snow on my side, and knowing that I am on his.


End file.
